


Missouri

by roguefaerie (samidha)



Series: Finding Home Away From Home (GQ/NB Dean Winchester with Shadow Moon Fics) [2]
Category: American Gods (TV), American Gods - Neil Gaiman, Gabriel (2007), Norse Religion & Lore, Once Upon a Time (TV), Peter Pan & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: AU, Aftereffects, Coming Out, Coming Out is Never a One Time Deal, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dean Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Fear, First Meetings, First Time, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Genderqueer Dean Winchester, Long and Slow Process, Moderated Comments, Names, Nonbinary Dean, Other, POV Second Person, Pie, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Pre-Series, Queerplatonic Relationships, Smart Dean, Trans Character, Trans Dean, Triggered Dean, Trying to Come Out When the Conversations Were More Rare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 21:31:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11388831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samidha/pseuds/roguefaerie
Summary: This person is perfect. But there have been lingering effects from the way Dean grew up.





	Missouri

**Author's Note:**

> I shouldn't really have to say this, but Dean is not trans because of abuse. Dean is just trans because I am allowed to write them right now. In case you are wondering, your author is not cis.  
> Very light crossover with AG in this chapter, but I wasn't going to leave any fandoms off that are involved in this series.  
> Please see note on Part 1 for further author's notes/feels/thoughts on who this series is for and suchlike.  
> NOTE! All parts are being added to the first document for people who want this series long-form. Parts are being added inside of the series (As of July 7 up to part 4) because some people prefer long form and some prefer bookmarking individual pieces.

It turns out that countless hours in the Impala can’t actually prepare you for the bus--so many damn people you don’t know what to do. You get off and think about hitchhiking but you don’t want to be in anyone’s car, don’t want to feel wheels under you, so you start walking.

You go slow, and when people offer you rides you say no. You don’t really want a motel room either, but you get one in Missouri and then head for the closest thing you can find to a diner.

A woman is in there, the only one at a booth at three in the afternoon, with a legal pad and no less than 3 writing utensils in front of her -- pencil, blue pen, red pen. She tap tap taps the pencil on paper and you watch her hands, creamed coffee colored and lean and so good.

You’ve been writing too, just like Odin asks you to, writing to get it all out. Your notebook is in your backpack.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” you say, though your booth is the farthest from hers you could find. She’s having pie, and you know it’s going to come to you warm.

It turns out to be apple and you couldn’t be happier in a million years. And it _is_ warm, and comes with a scoop of ice cream.

Warm food. Perfection.

You think about it, stopping yourself mid-gesture a few times, but finally you take out your notebook. You open it to a blank page.

Across the room, the beautiful girl looks up and raises an eyebrow.

You weren’t flirting with her--were you?

Maybe she decides you were. When you get up to leave the restaurant she follows you outside. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah. Sure. Why?”

“You look a little shaky. How long have you been in town?”

“Came in on the…” You think better of it. “Um, I walked in this morning, I guess.”

“You look falling down tired. Do you want to rest? Do you need more food?”

Who is this person and how do people turn out so pure?

“Um, I have a room. I guess I could go catch some sleep.”

She smiles a little. “Oh.” A pause. “Good.” Another pause. “Yeah.”

You watch her, expecting more somehow.

“I’m Cassie.”

“I’m Dean, but um...well, yeah. Hi.”

Another raised eyebrow. “I sense a story.”

“You could say that.”

She watches you, considering.

“You have lonely eyes, Dean.”

“Yeah. Uh.”

“Most guys don’t admit that kind of thing.”

“I’m not really--”

“You’re not like most guys.”

“No. Um, and...yeah. I’m not.”

“Do you want some company?”

Your heart thuds in your ears.

“It’s not like we have to go to your room. We have a little park.”

You follow her there, feeling like you’re going to skid into everything, and you sit in the grass. You want to go closer to the trees but you don’t, you focus on this person who’s been so weirdly nice to you.

Later you try not to let her see your eyes when you invite her in. She would see how scared you are and how this is your first solid room since--Sam--and….

You sit on the bed and she sits on the bed and puts a hand on your arm.

“You’re shaking. A lot,” she says. “Is...is...there something that I can do?”

 

“N-no. I mean. No. But I…”

She waits.

“You’re really beautiful.”

She smiles and it is like the sun coming out and filling the whole room and you lean a little closer to her. She reaches up and touches your face. “Thank you.”

There is a pause and then you lean into it and close your eyes (she can’t see) (what’s happening behind closed eyelids)

“Hey. It’s okay.”

No it’s not, not really, you’ll probably fall apart on this beautiful person and--but--

You take her arm (please) and fall backwards onto the bed (I don’t mean anything by this just please)

“I could…” she says, and then curls into the crook of your arm herself, “How’s that?”

“It’s…”

“Yeah?”

“Wow.”

“Hey.”

“Mm?”

“It’s okay. If you need to cry. How long have you been...homeless?”

“On the road. I’ve been on the road.”

“Yeah, but how long?”

“Forever. It’s a long story. Can we--I--”

“I can hear it,” she whispers.

You sit up talking all night, and you talk about everything but Sam.

She doesn’t say too much compared to everything you say, but she’s a writer and she’s interning at the paper. And that is perfect. Everything about her is perfect.

When it’s time you think you should send her home, you’ll kiss her goodnight, but the kiss, the kiss is everything you’ve ever wanted in a moment and she kisses back fiercely.

And you do cry, a little, and she pulls you back to lie down with her and murmurs, “Okay, okay. Okay.”

*~*~*

You see her every day. You never want to leave Missouri. You never want to leave.

*~*~*

When you are together, she tucks a little of your hair behind your ear and whispers, “Tinker Bell,” and your whole body lights up.

*~*~*

You could marry this girl. You’re not that kind of person but you could anyway. For her. For this.

*~*~*

When you say, “Not there, not yet,” you don’t want to explain and she only pauses a little and doesn’t make you. And that’s perfect, too.

 

*~*~*

You drive three towns over to the thrift store--you get in the car with her and let her drive. When you’re in the back together she whispers, “Do you want a dress, Tinker Bell?” and you have to decide between breaking out in a sweat and, well, not doing that. You do, you do want a dress and now someone knows it. 

*~*~*

You don’t want to meet her mother, though. That’s heavy, that’s...something else. You tell her and she gets drunk and angry, even though she already knows about your mom and the year and change you never talked. She gets mean. Mean like John. You are starting to panic.

She really doesn’t like it that you won’t meet her family but you can’t have a family right now. That’s all it is. You didn’t know she had this meanness inside of her, but you maybe could have.

“I see how it is, Tink,” she spits, and suddenly you are up like a rocket, pacing, shaking, freaking out. You duck into the bathroom--at least it’s your bathroom--and throw up.

“Oh, sorry, was I not supposed to _call_ you that?”

Everything is horrible. You run around the room filling your backpack with all your stuff--mythology books and clothes rolled in record time. She was just drunk, but you can’t, you can’t deal with that, not yet, not yet, and not from this person.

You think of Odin, not quite wondering where he is, you just think of him and start wishing hard to be anyone--anywhere--else.

You’re gone by morning, but she was never waiting for you to say goodbye.


End file.
